Review: Oakland, California. Present Day. Although you might not believe it when you hear it. Justin Pinkerton, or Futuropaco, certainly knows how to drop a red herring, conjuring a cacophony of psychedelic funk-jazz-rock stuff that feels like it has always been here but is brand new, and implies it took a full entourage locked in sweaty jam to realise what is really a one-man-band triumph. Hone in squarely on the rhythmic aspect to understand the core strength. Those drums, and those drum solos, seem to invoke percussive legends without demanding you listen for 20 minutes to their patter and thud. The guitars lunge and drive and chug with the intent of early metal or slo mo druggy electronic dance. And the melodic elements veer from disorientating crescendo to the best of the Spaghetti Western scores.
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